Countdown to Loss
by lovablegeek
Summary: Post S1 DW, pre S1 Torchwood - Jack knows all the dates, but this one somehow slipped his mind until just now. - One shot


I know the dates. Every single time Rose and the Doctor and I visited the twentieth or the twenty-first century, and a few of that dates the two of them were here before I met them. Usually, I make an effort to be a couple countries away when it happens. It keeps me from crossing my own timeline. Keeps me from doing anything too stupid. 

Somehow, though, this one's slipped my mind. Which is dumb, because when you're Torchwood Three and the mayor of Cardiff's an alien, it's probably something you should pay attention to. It's hard to care, though, when you know a younger, less screwed-up version of you and his friends are going to take care of it.

So I forgot, more or less, until I happened to glance at the morning paper. Weirdly enough, it's not the paper I remembered immediately, but the Doctor's face when he held it up to show me and Rose and Mickey in the restaurant. It happened over a hundred years ago... and apparently just today. You see, _this_ is why I make an effort to be out of the country around these dates. It just makes my life much too hard otherwise.

And right about now, I'm starting to wonder if maybe I was on any mind-altering drugs when I said, "Yeah, sure, I'll run Torchwood in Cardiff, what could go wrong?"

Alright, not that last part, because I know better, but I might as well have said it.

The others filter in, one at a time. I can see them all from the boardroom as they come in. Suzie first, as always. She's always been the first one in, the last to leave, since her first day. Well, except for me, but she doesn't _live_ here.

Then there's Liz and Stephen, who come in at the same time with takeaway breakfast from the same shop. They think they're being subtle about the two of them being together – it's kind of cute.

And last of all is the new kid, Owen, who's at once eager to impress and trying to prove he doesn't owe us anything. He alternates between coming in not long after Suzie, and being the last one here in the mornings. I've considered starting a pool with the others to put money on which it'll be any given day.

Once they've all arrived, I stride out of the boardroom - not a lot of people can _really_ stride, but, you know, when you've had as much practice as I have... - and stand by the railing, overlooking the rest of the Hub.

"All Torchwood staff to the boardroom please." I only use that official tone to get them all worked up - Stephen always gets this look on his face like he thinks he's done something wrong. And... there it is.

"Don't worry, you're not in trouble and you're not going to be punished. Unless you really want to be."

And there, as they start up the stairs, is Suzie's roll of her eyes, Liz's glare to hide the fact that she really _does_ find me funny (because she does, never mind that she won't admit it). I know I'm only doing this, focusing on little things, to try to forget that _they're_ here, but that self-awareness certainly doesn't mean I'm going to _stop_.

And back into the boardroom, this time with the team on my heels. I stand at the head of the table as they come in. Suzie, as always, sits just to the right of my chair. Liz and Stephen are on the opposite side, right next to each other - again, subtlety, all the way. It's a good thing they're better at it in the field than they are with each other. And last, of course, is Owen, trying not to look as excited and curious as he really is, even though none of us would blame him for either - this whole alien thing is new to him, after all. He flops into the chair nearest the door, leaning back, elbows resting on the arms of the chair.

They're all waiting for me to tell them what's going on, what's come up, what new alien or mysterious technology we're dealing with today. They're in for a disappointment.

"I know how overjoyed you'll all be to hear this, but no one's leaving the Hub today. Not for food, not for a quick break, not if the world is falling down outside." And it will be, before long.

One by one, their expressions shift. To confusion, or annoyance, or concern, except for Suzie, who seems fine with it.

"What-" Liz starts to ask. I cut her off before she says anything more. Any other time, I don't mind my team questioning me, but this isn't something I want to discuss.

"Look, you can use the time to catch up on old projects, play with shiny toys... There are whole storage rooms downstairs full of stuff no one's had the chance to look a. Or you could use the time for team bonding. That's always fun. I don't care as long as you _stay here_."

As long as they don't go wandering around the city, possibly run into the younger version of me, and break the space-time continuum or something. Of course, given that I lived through this once already and didn't meet any of these people _then_, I probably don't have to worry. On the other hand, the fact that I didn't could be because I - the older me, I mean - kept them all here.

Either way, I might as well play it safe, because if I ever do see the Doctor again, I don't want it to be because my team did something stupid. He'd only start insulting the human species, and it just goes downhill from there.

Liz and Owen nod reluctantly, because really, who doesn't find catching actual aliens more interesting than damp underground storage rooms full of alien technology? Well, except for Suzie and Stephen, and me, if you catch me in the right mood... Alright, disregard that question altogether. Given the right circumstances, damp underground storage rooms are a perfectly valid choice. But anyway, at least Suzie and Stephen will have a field day.

"That's really all I had to say. Liz, you want to make some coffee?"

"No."

"Do it anyway."

She scowls, not very seriously, and gets up to do so. After she's gone, Stephen glances over to me and asks, "Why do you do that? She makes terrible coffee."

"Because it's funny."

The coffee goes untouched. I get a mug of it anyway, keep it on my desk, reach for it every now and then like I'm going to do something with it, but don't take a single sip. I'm not thinking about coffee.

I'm watching the clock.

I'm counting down in my head, and trying to convince myself it doesn't matter what's going on outside, because it's already happened and I can't go back.

Now is when the TARDIS lands, and there's suddenly a big blue box sitting in front of the Milliennium Centre, right on top of the Hub. It's right there, and no one sees it.

Now is when we're all in the restaurant, telling stories none of us believe.

Now is when we invade the Mayor's office, now when she climbs out the window, now when we watch her teleport away... and back, and away again... and back again...

I remember exactly the Doctor's grin, saying, "I could do this all day." I couldn't forget it. And he's saying it _right now_, which makes the memory that much worse.

At some point - I wasn't paying enough attention to notice - the team apparently got tired of raiding the storage room for the time being, and gone to the R&R area to play one of the games in there -even Suzie had gone, after Owen sulked long enough about not having a partner to play with against the Liz-Stephen duo. Judging from the occasional triumphant whoops I can hear, and Liz's strident "In your _face_, Costello!", they're playing one of the shooting simulations. They always get the most worked up over that, and except for me, the girls are the best at it.

I might as well let them play. It's good to hear _someone_ enjoying themselves on a day like this. I don't move, and keep my eyes on the clock. It's dark by now, and I still know everything that's going on. Now Rose is with Mickey, while the Doctor and I are stuck with a murderous alien dressed in a human skin. Now is when the Doctor goes out for his "date". And right about now...

I push myself out of the chair, leaving the cold coffee where it sits. My footsteps echo in the long hallway between the atrium and the R&R area, boots on concrete. A lot of the Hub is built like an extremely intricate World War II-era bomb shelter. I wonder why that is.

As I get closer, I can hear simulated gunfire underneath the cheers and friendly taunting of the team. It's half-muted, and sounds nothing like the real thing - it's not like we don't have a real shooting range not far down the hall, but on that, they're not allowed to shoot each other, and anyway, a little competitiveness never killed anyone. Except when it does.

They're still shooting when I come in, and Liz whirls around to fire a shot at me. The simulation equipment starts ringing shrilly, the sign for a missed target. I grin and raise my hands. "Sorry, I'm not wearing a vest. I stand immune."

The same thing would be true, of course, if it were a real gun, but they don't need to know that.

Liz rolls her eyes and holds up her gun, pointed at the ceiling, while the others lower theirs. I'm paying more attention to the structure of the room than the team. It should be sturdy enough... and if I'm wrong, it'll be fun digging our way out of the rubble that collapses on us.

"What is it?" Suzie asks.

Stephen's already shrugging off his target vest. "Changed your mind about going out?" He sounds almost hopeful, like he's praying Liz will be able to leave and work out some of that excess energy on aliens instead of him. I honestly can't imagine why.

"No, actually, I just wanted to warn you. There's going to be an earthquake in about... oh... five minutes, give or take. Just in case you want to get under a table or stand in a doorway or whatever it is you do for an earthquake."

They don't react the way you'd expect to the announcement of an earthquake. Actually, all four of them look at me like they think I'm joking. All this advanced, way-beyond-Earth technology, and they don't trust me to predict an earthquake.

Suzie's the one who speaks first. "An earthquake? In Cardiff?"

Of course. I should have expected that. Aliens, a rift in space and time? Perfectly reasonable. An earthquake, however, is pushing it too far.

"If it helps, it's not entirely natural.'

Stephen frowns. "How did you know that?"

"He probably just heard the Weevils getting worked up," Owen says, rolling his eyes. "They're just like dogs, they'd be able to sense it."

"Hairless, two-legged, very ugly dogs. Wouldn't recommend trying to play fetch with them, though. And you'd be able to hear them from here if that was it. Even they won't be able to sense it for another..." I checked my watch. "Twenty seconds?"

To be perfectly honest, I made that up. I don't remember _exactly_ the time the earthquake started, but I can make a rough guess. Owen and the others stare at me - and then there's a distant snarl, the loud crash of the Weevil slamming itself into the door of the cell. Stephen jumps, and Suzie squeaks. And they all four look at me in wide-eyed awe. I love it when they think I'm omniscient.

I'll give them a minute to let the full effect sink in before I say anything, mentally thanking the Weevil for its perfect timing.

"So. Seriously, you might want to get under a table. It's gonna be pretty nasty, and I don't want to deal with any concussions."

There's another, much smaller pause, and then they scramble to duck into the various alcoves around the room - good enough a place to go for cover as any, I guess, given that there's probably not enough time to get to another room with better places to take cover. Suzie does have to grab Owen by the arm and drag her into the alcove with her after he tries to hide under an air hockey table that would fold like a cheap card table if anything fell on it. I stay right where I am, in the doorway. For a few seconds, there's only silence, just the sound of breathing, and the four of them glancing to me like maybe they're wondering if I was wrong...

And then the world twists, and bucks, and begins to crack apart at the seams.

The others close their eyes and press themselves as far back into their alcoves as they can get, as the building shakes and a rumble sounds through the air. I close my eyes too, but it's not to shield from the dust and chunks of plaster that fall from the ceiling, some of them small, some of them much larger - like the one that falls on the pinball table, and damn it, I _liked_ that one. But that's not my concern. I'm thinking about everything that's going on above us. When an earthquake brings on a wave of nostalgia, you either have serious issues, or you've travelled with the Doctor. These are not mutually exclusive, and I don't care which it is now, because I _remember_. I remember the sparks and minor explosions as the extrapolator I'd been tinkering with all day started to backfire. I remember the Doctor's face when he realized what was happening. I remember Rose's frightened whimper, the Slitheen's hand around her throat. I remember the glow of the heart of the TARDIS, as the console opens up.

It stops. The shaking, the rumbling, it falls away and there's silence again. A final chunk of plaster falls from the ceiling to the floor with a loud thump, much louder in the quiet room. I open my eyes and glance around at the team, checking one by one to make sure no one's hurt. But it's more instinct than anything else, because I'm not sure I care about that now either.

Because now is when the TARDIS leaves. Now is when I get left behind, not for the first time, and probably not for the last.


End file.
